


Fortuna Favet Fortibus

by CannedTins



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Based on a Tumblr Post, Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, Gen, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 15:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18831238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannedTins/pseuds/CannedTins
Summary: “They say time is money. If you were to measure uncle Scrooge’s age according to his wealth...I would say he would have lived forever."Or, dealing with the death of your exceedingly rich uncle, and the aftermath.





	Fortuna Favet Fortibus

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this wonderful fanart on Tumblr: https://pizdecsuqa.tumblr.com/post/184854290582/sweet-dreams-uncle and also partly on the episode "The 87 Cent Solution".

Scrooge McDuck was dead.

 

At the very least, he did not die in a bed suffering from illness or any other malaise. He died doing what he did while alive, going on a grand adventure. He did not suffer any injuries or serious harm, and he was not in pain when he died.

 

He died surrounded by treasure and family. He was still holding on to the great golden chest, seemingly in the middle of trying to pry it open. Donald, Della, Launchpad, the children, they all thought he had fallen asleep from exhaustion after the long, winding walk down the cold caverns, but trying to rouse him awake did nothing. 

 

His heart had finally given out after 152 years.

 

They never opened the golden chest. They did not call for help, instead they took his body to the Sunchaser and flew back to Duckburg. That was the first time Launchpad did not crash. 

 

That was the first sign that Mrs. Beakley knew something was terribly wrong. The second sign was Webby running to her and sobbing, seemingly inconsolable. She browsed all the adventurer’s faces, all kinds of emotions mixed in, Scrooge not present, not even any treasure.

The third sign came from Donald, who seemed to be fighting back tears rather angrily as he said those words:

 

“He’s gone.”

 

The funeral would be held on Thursday. 

 

They laid him in a wooden casket on a bed of lilies. Scrooge had specifically asked not to spend too much money on his death, it seemed even in the afterlife he was overly stingy. Donald and Mrs. Beakley, along with the funeral director, arranged most of the plans according to Scrooge’s extensively written will---written over 50 years ago and continually revised until the second he died. 

 

It would be a private funeral, held in the First Church of Duckburg. Only his family members and closest associates were invited. No enemies allowed---Gizmoduck took guard just outside of the church. Although the funeral was in Duckburg, it was Scrooge’s wish as written to be buried in his ancestral home, at Dismal Downs. It would be open-casket.

 

Donald looked at his uncle’s body laying in the bed of flowers, looking more at peace than he had ever been in life. When Donald and the others found him dead, Scrooge had some tinges of exhaustion and even determination to keep going, deep lines around his face, truly showing his age. This was not the case here. If Donald hadn’t known of the tragic circumstances, he’d say that Scrooge merely looked asleep.

 

Wrapped around Scrooge’s hands, hanging on a necklace, was his number-one dime. The dime that had led him to his many adventures. The start of it all. He took the beginning to the end. He was not dressed in his red coat and black top hat, but rather a green suit with maroon-and-white vest that Mrs. Beakley had chosen with the director. 

 

Della was next to Donald, her children---his nephews---huddled together, sharing their moment of sadness. She had only returned from the moon a few months ago, after ten years of absence. Now her uncle, whom she had not seen in so long, was dead. Webby was with her grandmother. She had almost never stopped crying ever since that day. 

 

There were other familiar faces at the funeral too; Gyro, Gladstone, Fethry, Grandma Duck, and more. Even Goldie O’Gilt was invited. There was not much talking involved aside from the occasional comment here and there.

 

Donald was to deliver the eulogy. He stood up at the podium carrying a few pieces of the papers he had written, partly with Beakley’s help. He browsed all the faces of the invited and his own family, and he gulped, not sure where to start.

 

Finally, after a moment, he began:

 

“You probably know who I am, everybody does. But if not---I’m Donald Duck. Scrooge McDuck’s nephew. And you know why you are all here, and why I am on the podium. To remember uncle Scrooge for who he was. Thank you for coming,”

 

He cleared his throat and continued,

 

“They say time is money. If you were to measure uncle Scrooge’s age according to his wealth...I would say he would have lived forever.

 

He was a very complicated person, and even through there were so many times where I felt frustrated by him, angered, didn’t understand him...Deep inside I always felt a sort of respect. Because he was still family. And family is the most powerful thing that matters to me.

 

He was a stingy old miser, but I understand he wasn’t always that way. He was born in Glasgow, December 1867. He was nearly penniless and had to work so hard for his eventually famous wealth. Why, they could make an entire novel out of his life story, something like The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck.

 

I won’t lie, we clashed a lot, headbutted, argued, pulled each other’s feathers and more...it would seem like from a distance that we hated each other's guts, but nothing could be further from the truth. I feel that if he had truly hated me, he never would have had me in the will, much less even want to see me...even after ten years. I would not even be here giving the eulogy, because he wouldn’t have specifically requested that I give one.

 

I remember when i was younger, that I used to look up to him more, that I would tag along with him. Then I grew up, became an angsty teenager, and...well. Some of you in the family may know what happened next.

 

I remember when it was me, Della, and uncle Scrooge. The triplets hadn’t been born yet, but we were a good adventuring trio. We went to find the Philosopher’s stone. I remember Scrooge’s fearless feats, and despite the fact he could be so selfish that he really wanted the stone so badly, he still cared about us. He rescued me from the deadly pit of thorns with only a rope and my sister for backup.

 

He always told everyone about being smarter than the smarties and tougher than the toughies, and while there were moments where I didn’t get it, or thought it was stupid, occasionally I could really understand where uncle Scrooge got it from.”

he paused to wipe away tears in his eyes, and continued:

 

“Good night, uncle Scrooge. May you dive in coins and treasures forever in your afterlife.”

 

There were a few quiet claps and sniffles from the audience as Donald stepped down from the podium. Music played as the audience watched and recollected their memories, the piano’s tones echoing throughout the church.

 

_ Go slowly now, sands of time _

_ Still have some verses to pour _

_ This wonder of life has led me home _

_ Like a poet of Scotland once scribed: _

_ Home is the sailor _

_ Home from the sea _

_ And the hunter home from the hill _

_ Go slowly now, sands of time _

_ Still have a memory to make _

_ Dancing to Auld Lang Syne _

_ Thinking of the heather of home _

_ Home is the sailor _

_ Home from the sea _

_ And the hunter home from the hill _

 

_______________________________________________________________

 

The reception thereafter would be held at McDuck manor. Mrs. Beakley prepared all sorts of Scottish and American dishes alike for the invitees, including drinks. 

 

Donald could hear the soft chattering of his family members, and Scrooge’s old associates, everything tinged with sadness that he couldn’t bear to listen for too long. He nibbled on a slice of bread as he watched. Mrs. Beakley lay a hand down on his shoulder, spooking him. She hadn’t meant to scare him.

 

“You delivered it perfectly.”

 

“I did?”

 

“Well,” Beakley smiled softly, “I have to admit your first draft was a little  _ too _ passionate, so I had to tone it down, but otherwise, yes. You did wonderfully. I think Mr. McDuck would be proud.”

 

Donald wiped off yet more tears from his eyes, and heard his sister and nephews and Webby all arriving towards him. Della hugged him immediately with sobs, and the children tried to distract themselves from the sadness by picking out which food to eat. He could also see Launchpad just outside, probably bawling his heart out. He couldn’t see his cousins, they were probably on the other side of the manor, sharing their own stories. 

 

“Della. Della. It’s already too sad here,” Donald offered to wipe away her tears, “Any more and we would be underwater from all the crying. It’s okay to be sad, through.”

 

Della sniffled, “I...I only got to see him again after ten years...and...”

 

“It’s okay. That’s over now. I’m sure he forgives you. He might have been an old miser, but he didn’t hate his family.”

 

Della managed a smile, “You know. I won’t give up on adventure. I’ll take up his footsteps. I’ll explore the world with the kids, and you.”

 

“He would have loved that.”

 

“It’s just...it was too soon, you know?”

 

Donald nodded, opening his mouth to say something when someone else spoke.

 

“Excuse me.”

 

Goldie O’Gilt stood just adjacent from brother and sister, dressed in a pitch-black mourning gown which made her brilliant gold hair stand out even more. She was holding a bouquet of pink-orange colored lilies.

 

“You know me, right? Scrooge’s old rival...his, well, old flame. I knew Scroogey for so long, I remember the adventures, and the backstabbing and such that also transpired. That was fun.”

 

“His grave’s not going to be here.”

 

Goldie chuckled, “Oh, I know. Of course the sentimental boy would want to be buried back at home. But I thought I would bring flowers anyhow. No tricks this time.”

 

“No tricks. That would just be cruel.”

 

“Donald,” Mrs. Beakley warned, “Not the time to act up.”

 

“Excuse us, we were talking too,” Della interjected, “But, uh, if you want to place the flowers, you can put them by Scrooge’s office. That’s where all the gifts are going. By the way, what are those?”

 

“Alstroemeria. Peruvian lily, it symbolizes wealth and good fortune, as well as devotion. I felt it was only appropriate.”

 

“Devotion, huh?” Donald raised an eyebrow, “I’ll lead you there. Stay with the kids, Della.”

 

As Della had said, Scrooge’s office was surrounded by many gifts and flowers already, even some money was lended with coins scattered around the floor. Donald eyed Goldie with a hint of suspicion, but thought better of it, that maybe Goldie really was honest about everything. She laid the lilies right at the center of his desk, and uttered something under her breath.

 

“Donald, I can call you that, right? I want to let you in on a secret,” Goldie’s eyes twinkled, but Donald couldn’t detect any sort of trickery. He forgot why she was even invited, Mrs. Beakley had looked through the list hundreds of times, surely she wouldn’t have missed?

 

  
“Go on.”

 

Goldie sighed, now looking old and gentle, “I loved Scrooge. I truly did. He was stubborn as a mule, he never gave up, he was greedy and selfish and always wanted to do things his way, but I loved him. I remember our first expedition in the caves of White Agony. We fought, we got frozen in the iceberg...I was first to get out of there, so I kissed him a little goodbye and went on---as I do usually. But I felt a sense of love as well as that bitter rivalry that consumed our lives. And I know he loved me, too. We just couldn’t show it too much. I did send him a card, though.”

 

Donald blinked, “And...what did you say over there, putting the flowers down?”

 

“ _ Fortuna favet fortibus _ . It means ‘fortune favors the bold’. Something to place on his gravestone, if you’d like.”

 

“I’ll think of it.”

 

Goldie smiled, heading towards the door, but turning to Donald for one last time before leaving, “You know. You really remind me of him.”

 

__________________________________________________________

 

Launchpad did not fly the body to Glasgow. Beakley ordered a private plane that only she, Donald, Della, the children, and Launchpad would embark on. They had a hearse drive the body to Dismal Downs, with an extra cab driving the rest of the group. The cab driver had a thick Scottish accent that reminded Donald so much of his uncle. He eventually had to tell the driver to quiet down as the accent was too much to bear. The driver understood.

 

“Never has a name been more appropriate!” Della exclaimed as they walked to the castle cemetery. It was obvious that she was struggling to keep her chipper attitude in the midst of tragedy. Donald didn’t tell her to stop behaving as such.

 

Scrooge’s gravestone was placed in the same area as his ancestors before him were buried. He did not have anything flashy, only a simple gray stone with his name, date of birth and death, and the words underneath;  _ Fortuna favet fortibus _ .

 

“That’s Latin. Fortune favors the bold. Where did you come up with this?” Beakley asked.

 

“It was Goldie’s idea.”

 

They all watched as the casket was placed into the hole, the gravedigger taking his shovel and covering up the casket, leaving just the mound of dirt and the stone. Donald laid down some of those same pink-orange lilies Goldie had, placing them at the grave. Beakley paid both the gravedigger and the drivers handsomely, and they allowed the family to have their moment of

silence.

 

“Do you really think it’s okay to pay them that much?” Louie asked.

“He would allow it this time,” Donald said.

 

Huey joined in, “And what does the will say about his fortune? Who does it go to?”

 

“The money is split between Della and I. He wrote that you can acquire it once you turn of age. We can read the will over once we get back home, it’s very long and detailed, I can’t remember everything right now.”

 

“Do we keep the manor? The money bin? And all the treasures?” Webby asked.

 

“Yes, all of it. We live in the manor now. He wanted us to.”

 

Dewey was the last to speak, and with the most feeling, “Even though he’s gone, we’ll still go on great adventures, looking for all sorts of treasure that he couldn’t find, but  _ we _ can! We’ll keep solving mysteries and rewriting history, right?”

 

Donald smiled, the widest he’d smiled since before Scrooge had died, “Of course. Always.”

 

The family all reached in for a hug, when they heard a  _ whoop _ coming from the nearby castle, and swooshing, almost footstep-like noises.

 

“I think it’s just an owl,” Webby looked around.

 

“They’re much more quiet than this,” Huey noted.

 

The footsteps got closer and finally they could see a faint blue glow, an apparition of sorts, standing right before them. The group stood slack-jawed at the figure, as if they knew who it was. There was silence for a few minutes, before it finally spoke.

 

“Did somebody say  _ treasure _ ?”

 

Donald felt tears flow out of his eyes, stepping closer.

 

“Uncle Scrooge.”

  
  



End file.
